


Season of Sweetness

by ScarletThread



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - All Media Types, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:45:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletThread/pseuds/ScarletThread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck and Oberon enjoy the warmth and beauty of the first days of spring, and that of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Season of Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this just for myself, after seeing the Shakespeare's Globe production of Midsummer with John Light and Matthew Tennyson. It was originally entitled "Some Homoromantic Puck and Oberon Fanfiction Because I Am a Filthy and Opportunistic S.O.B." In honor of the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death, I'm posting it today. I hope it makes the old boy proud.

It was soon after the rain had ceased, but long enough that the sun had once again emerged, and was dancing in the dewy raindrops left on the leaves and in the moist haze that still softly clung to the air. This was Puck’s favorite time of the year, when the world carelessly reeled from fiery and blinding to dark and soaking to soft and chilling, then back again. It was as if the sky itself were playing tricks on the earth.

Puck was curled on the fleecy grass in a dim corner of the forest, enjoying the erratic dripping of the rain from the surrounding leaves, when he heard footsteps of a fondly familiar cadence.

“Oberon,” Puck said softly as the fairy king stepped forward from the darkness of the forest. Unsure of his master’s intentions for the visit, he hastily stood, asking, “Pray, what dost thou—”

The question was lost in the swift kiss that Oberon placed upon his lips. Puck closed his eyes, and heard his heartbeat rush through his temples several times before Oberon slowly pulled away.

“This season harkens the dutiful honeybee,” remarked Oberon quietly, absentmindedly stroking behind Puck’s ear, “which delivers to every flower the sweet nectar of spring. Since thy lips are indeed as pink and soft as a rose’s petal, he must have mistaken them for a blossom and alighted upon them, for they taste of this same sweetness.” His eyes shining, he leaned in and gently kissed Puck again. Then, taking Puck’s hand in his, he settled upon that grassy patch under the trees and bade Puck sit beside. “Come, rest once more and reflect with me upon the beauties and joys of the summer.”

Their hands remained entwined as Puck sat. “What joys are those, my lord? For this is the season of loneliness, when every creature in every tree and burrow seeks out a mate, yet precious few have luck enough to find him, and of these warm and waxing days to make the most.”

“Ah, but to those lucky few this time is indeed joyous,” Oberon contended, wrapping his arm around Puck’s shoulder and kissing his neck. “And make the most of it,” another kiss, “they shall.”

The kisses continued steadily down the fairy’s throat and chest, and Puck leaned back obligingly until he was lying in the grass, his eyes closed and his hand tentatively weaving through Oberon’s hair. He involuntarily sucked in a breath as Oberon’s lips grazed over the pale and delicate skin of his stomach. The king lifted his head and sat back on his heels.

“Pray,” Puck pleaded, “do not leave me now as thou art so wont to.” Oberon looked up at him. “That is, not that thou wantest to, but that thou often does, for reasons surely of import but to which I am not privy, thus making them unimportant in mine eyes.” He paused, then sighed. “I pray that whatever hath called you from my side in past, you are deaf to it this night.”

The tenderness in Oberon’s eyes matched that of his kisses. With careful hands, he pulled Puck to sitting and laid down in his place. He then guided Puck over him so that the slight fairy rested upon his hips, with Puck’s knees hugging his master’s ribs. Taking Puck’s small hands in his own, Oberon explained, “Now we have traded places and you are master, and I your willing worship to meet thine every wish. Now no matter what may call me, it is impossible for me to leave unless thou dost permit it.” He curled up to look into Puck’s face, clutching the fairy’s hands to his bare chest. “Dost thou permit it?”

Eyelids and breath both shaky, Puck shook his head. Oberon grinned, reaching up to stroke Puck’s cheek. “Very well.”


End file.
